


this is for the ones who stand (for the ones who try again)

by danielfaradays



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, The Turtle CAN Help Us (IT)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danielfaradays/pseuds/danielfaradays
Summary: Mike leaves Derry.He forgets the town and Bill before the year is out.(or, a fix-it AU where Bill stays behind, Stan sees an alternate fate for himself, and a mysterious Voice promises that there could be a different ending to this story.)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 35
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you get so deep in your feelings for Mike, Eddie, and Stan that you write a lengthy multi-chapter fic where they get treated better. 
> 
> I'm cherrypicking my favorite parts of the various IT canons here, but it's set in the movie universe. Mike's parents are referenced in the prologue, because that's a better part from the book. The first part of this fic will follow the movie's events (with obvious changes) while the later parts will branch off into a post-film universe because these characters all deserve so much better. 
> 
> I will try to update the tags with warnings as they come.
> 
> All my love to the friends who've encouraged me to write this and post it.

**Prologue**

Bev is the first one to leave, in September of 1989. She is also the first one to forget. It starts with her not returning calls, or writing letters. When one of them does get her on the phone, she’s confused and barely remembers them. She tells them she’s doing fine, that she’s happy, but she can’t quite remember if they were ever friends.

Finally, the attempts at contact stop all together. It hurts Ben most of all, though he never quite says it out loud.

Eddie is next. His mother moves him out of Derry in 1990, the week after school lets out. He tells them, gasping for breath between sobs the night before he goes, that she thinks his friends are a bad influence and that he’s grown too rebellious for his own good, so they’re leaving. He had to sneak out the night before to even say goodbye to them.

When he stops writing to them, Richie looks like the world has ended.

Next is Ben, when his mother gets a job out of town. Richie follows six months later, cracking jokes with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Stan goes after that, and before he leaves he tells both Mike and Bill that forgetting It isn’t worth forgetting all his friends.

Mike remains, though. He and his family stay, even when his dad gets sick. Bill stands by his side for the entire ordeal, already familiar with this kind of grief. He comes to the funeral, and later holds Mike close when Mike screams and cries out in grief that seems endless.

In between sickness and death and growing up, they research. They’re the only ones who remember It, after all, and that It could come back in 27 years. Bill skips football games and homecomings and prom to spend time in the library with Mike, saying he’d rather spend time with his best friend than stand around at some party alone.

“You’re just saying that because I’m the only one left,” Mike teases, and Bill smiles in earnest.

In the fall of 1992, Bill kisses Mike when they’re alone on the farm. He stutters afterwards, turning a bright red, and Mike kisses him back.

After that, the time spent at the library feels more like a gift. They can’t hold hands in public, especially not in Derry, but sometimes their knees will touch as they pour over texts and it feels special, even if it’s secret.

Finally, the spring of 1993 comes, and Mike meets Bill at the library with a letter in his hands and a forlorn look on his face.

“I’d always wanted to apply to school somewhere else,” he says, turning over the acceptance letter from the University of Florida in his hands. “My mom, she said I should try, and I didn't even think I'd get in. Even if I didn't, she wants to sell the farm anyways.”

"Of course you got in, you're the smartest guy I know," Bill says fondly, unable to stop himself from smiling a bit before his face falls. “I get it, though.”

Mike looks down. “I don’t wanna forget.”

“Even if you d-d-do, it’s not your fault. I’ll stay here, just in case.”

Mike shakes his head. “It’s wrong. We shouldn’t have to leave anyone behind. And what if It is dead? Then you’re gonna be stuck here for no reason, and I’ll forget you, and it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” Bill agrees. “But I think we always knew s-s-someone would have to stay though.”

The unspoken expectation though was that they might stay together.

“Do you want to go?” Bill asks, with no judgement in his voice.

“Yes,” Mike says. The town’s haunted for both of them, he knows, but Mike has always wanted to go far away.

“Let me stay then,” Bill says. He doesn’t stutter once. “I couldn’t save Georgie, but maybe I can save someone else. And if It comes back, then I’ll call you and the others. And if 27 years go by, and It is actually dead, then I’ll come find you.”

Mike lets out a sob and throws his arms around Bill’s neck. The library is blessedly deserted and so Bill hugs him back tightly.

Three months later, the Hanlon farm is sold and Mike leaves Derry.

He forgets the town and Bill before the year is out. 

* * *

**2016**

The call comes during summer.

Mike is hard at work, because even if he technically gets a vacation, his job never seems to cease. He’s speaking at a conference in three weeks, and his editor has been hounding him for new pages for his book on ancient creation myths. Besides, he wants to finalize his syllabus for his newest course, an Intro to the History of Religion and Myth class that the department is making him teach, alongside his usual courses and heading up the senior research study.

Life doesn’t stop for summer vacation.

He’s sitting in his home office, staring at a blinking cursor, when the call comes in from Maine. Mike has a vague recollection of living in Maine at some point in his life —they had a farm, he thinks, and that was when his dad was alive — so he answers, wondering if it’s some long forgotten cousin.

“Mike Hanlon speaking.”

There’s a sharp exhale on the other end of the line. “Mike,” the caller says, and Mike feels something like recognition curl in his chest.

“Who is this?”

“This is Bill,” the man says. “Bill Denbrough. We… we used to be best friends.”

Mike is about to tell him that he doesn’t know any Bill Denbrough, but he can suddenly see a gangly kid riding a silver bike. He can hear the same kid, who must be Bill, that’s who it has to be, say, “If It isn’t dead, if It comes back, we’ll come back too.”

And there are others, besides Bill. He remembers other faces, inside jokes, secrets shared in some sort of clubhouse. He remembers fear, but he also remembers love. So much love that he wasn’t sure how he could fit it all in his chest, and he remembers that he never wanted to forget that kind of love.

Mike intends to say “ _I don’t know a Bill Denbrough_.”

Instead, he says, “Bill? Jesus Christ…”

Bill lets out a short huff of laughter. “You remember!”

“Not much,” Mike says, leaning back in his chair. “I remember… the Losers? And I remember you. But other than that…”

“It’s hard,” Bill says softly. “But you need to come back, Mikey. You have to remember the promise.”

The promise. If It isn’t dead… It…

Mike exhales. “When?”

* * *

Stan doesn’t know quite what to do when he gets the call.

When he first recognizes the name — Bill, Bill Denbrough, how could he ever forget Bill? — there’s a burst of familiarity and comfort.

And then that’s followed by terror, because there’s only one reason why he would be calling after 27 years and suddenly Stan remembers, with a sharp and painful clarity, being alone in the sewers and thirteen years old and a monster charging forward and —

What did they call them? Deadlights?

He saw something there.

He tries to remember everything even though it’s still foggy and vague, but the only thing he can think of is particularly cruel. He sees himself as he is now, lying dead in his own bathtub, the word “It” scrawled on the wall in what he knows is his own blood.

For a moment, he considers that future. Maybe it’s better to escape now before going back and facing death again.

As suddenly as he thinks of that, there’s a soft voice in the back of his mind. It’s oddly familiar, warm and comforting. Stan knows without knowing that the Voice is old. He also knows that it won’t hurt him.

" _They need you, Stanley_ ," the Voice tells him. " _I can only help so much, but the others will need you. Your future is not set in stone yet._ "

Stan inhales. _I swear, Bill._

“Stanley?”

That voice is even more familiar. Stan turns to Patty and immediately pulls her into his arms, because he’s frightened that this might be the last time he’ll see her.

“Buenos Aires will have to wait, babylove,” he says, hoping the pet name will soften the blow. “I just got a call from an old friend. I’ve gotta go back to Maine.”

He feels her expression change as her arms tighten around him. “Maine? Stan, you’ve never wanted to go back before.”

“I know,” Stan says softly. “But this is really important. I made a promise. I can’t break it.”

Patty pulls back just far enough to look into his eyes — she’s still confused, but she’s already understanding his need to honor whatever promise he made. Oh, how Stan loves her. “When will you be back?”

“Hopefully no more than a week.” Because he’ll come back, damn it. He has to. “You won’t even miss me.”

“That’s a lie,” she says with a gentle smile. “I always miss you.”

Stan kisses her then. There’s a plane ticket to be bought, and bags to be packed, and, of course, a monster lurking in the distance. But for now, he’ll kiss his wife and relish the feeling of being alive.

He thinks faintly _maybe the turtle can help us this time_ , but then Patty deepens the kiss and the thought slips away as fast as it came.

* * *

Eddie tries to not think too hard as he merges onto the highway and leaves New York behind.

He doesn’t think about the fact that the day before he crashed his car because of a simple phone call (which is why he’s now stuck behind the wheel of the safest rental car he can get), or about the fight he had with Myra as he’d packed two suitcases. He’s not sure why he packed so much. This is just a trip to his hometown. He’s coming back home after.

Right?

He’s not even sure why he’s going. He doesn’t quite remember the promise that Bill says they made. Something about coming back, if it… if It…

Whatever the it is, it sits out of reach. Eddie thinks that would upset him if he weren’t feeling like he were driving towards his own grave.

Because that’s what will happen, won’t it? Whatever awaits him at the end of this road is frightening and all-encompassing and will swallow him whole. He remembers fear, but of what he can’t quite place and that not knowing should make him want to turn and run. To drive in the opposite direction. He’s supposed to be good at assessing risk and something is telling him this is the worst risk he’ll ever take.

And yet, he can’t look back. There are reasons to go forward.

There’s Bill, first of all. What Eddie can remember is that Bill was their de-facto leader, always brave and a little reckless. There are other names that have resurfaced too, Mike and Stan, Beverly and Ben. Richie.

That name is enough to suck the air out of Eddie’s lungs, because he has a face to place with the name Richie. Richie Tozier, the comedian. Eddie’s seen his work; Tozier is popular enough that he’s hosted award shows and done Netflix specials. His jokes are crude and unfunny and Eddie’s always had a secret theory (though he’s never been sure why) that he doesn’t write his own material.

Now he remembers images and sounds: coke bottle glasses and hideous shirts and someone saying “Eddie, Eddie look at me!”

He doesn’t remember much, but he does remember a surging affection for his friends. A love that he’s not sure he’s ever felt elsewhere, not like how he remembers. He loves Myra ( _of course he loves Myra, right, that’s what he tells himself_ ) but nothing he’s felt for her comes close to the searing burst of love that radiates through his chest at the glimpses of memories he’s getting now.

He’s scared, but he loved… loves them all so much. It’s worth the risk, some part of him that’s braver says, because you’ll be together again.

So Eddie drives towards Derry, towards his own fears and his friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so much to everyone who's read this fic and left kudos or comments! It means the world to me that you took the time to read this, and I hope you enjoy this second chapter!
> 
> This is the last exposition chapter, and will serve as the jumping off point for the rest of the character work in the fic. The next chapter will feature some meatier character studies of Mike, Stan, and Eddie, so please stick around for that.
> 
> I also play fast and loose with the idea of the Ritual of Chud, which combines book and movie canon here. I cut the plot about stealing from Native Americans (because holy shit is that a terrible plot) and instead tried to make sense of how the tokens could actually be relevant to the plot and how the Ritual of Chud could work in the movie universe. But you'll see how it all shakes out as the fic develops.
> 
> As a warning, this chapter also deals with Stan's suicidal thoughts. It's non-graphic, but if discussions of suicidal thoughts and suicide are a trigger, please proceed with caution.

Mike shows up at the restaurant and doesn’t know why his palms are sweating.

Sure, there’s whatever It is; so far, all he can remember is some unknown thing that’s been a nightmare dancing on the edge of his consciousness since Bill called. But he shouldn’t be this nervous to just see old friends, especially if they were so close that they all made a promise to come back someday.

Has it really been 27 years since they’ve been all together?

The waitress leads him to a private room where a man is already waiting. He turns and Mike blinks at him because the only memories he has of Bill are from their youth. Bill at age forty is different.

Bill in the present day is handsome, no longer gangly and all elbows, with a streak of grey in his hair. His eyes are the same, though, and they light up when they see Mike.

“Mike!” Bill immediately rushes across the room to wrap his arms around him, holding him tight. Mike hugs him back, the edge of a memory he can’t quite remember dancing just out of reach. He remembers Bill… remembers that they…

God, did he have a crush on Bill?

Just as soon as that thought passes through his mind, Bill pulls back to look at him with a shining smile. “I knew you’d come back, Mikey.”

“Of course,” Mike says, a little overwhelmed. “Losers… stick together? That’s what we used to say, right?”

Bill beams at that. “Losers. Yeah, that’s good. What else do you remember?”

Mike opens his mouth to tell him not much, even though he feels like he should remember more, but they’re interrupted by another familiar voice.

“— and if I eat a cashew I could realistically die.”

The next man who shows up is only a couple inches taller than Bill, with neatly combed dark hair and enough nervous energy that it’s palpable from across the room. When he sees Mike and Bill, he stops talking, except to mutter “Holy shit.”

Bill continues to smile. “Eddie!”

 _Of course this is Eddie_ , Mike thinks. Eddie had always been nervous, always talking too fast, as if he was afraid that he wouldn’t have the chance to say everything he wanted to say.

The three of them stand there for a moment, and then Bill crosses the room to hug Eddie. Eddie looks mildly confused as Bill pulls him in for a hug, but then something shifts in his face and he hugs Bill back.

They make awkward small talk that’s mostly Bill asking questions he seems to already know the answers to as Mike and Eddie try to remember their friendship. They’re hardly paying attention to anything besides each other when the gong near the door bangs. As the sound reverberates around the room, they turn to see —

“This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun!” A tall man with glasses — Richie Tozier, it could only be Richie with those glasses — announces, eyes fixed just past Mike’s shoulder to where Eddie is standing.

Mike is starting to remember more, so it’s easy to remember who these other two are. Ben has lost weight, but he still has that same kind face. Beverly… well, they didn’t have many girls in the group. He’d be an idiot if he didn’t remember her.

The six of them immediately make the rounds, hugging each other. Bill seems increasingly thrilled, even as Richie teases him for his height. With each hug, Mike feels more and more memories come back, moments that seem to emerge from a fog.

But there are only six of them. There should be seven.

“Hey,” Mike says, “where’s Stan?”

Richie scoffs from where he’s busy trying to ruffle Eddie’s hair. “Stan? Stan Uris? He’s a pussy, he’s not gonna show up.”

“Thanks, Rich.”

The new voice makes them all turn. Bill’s face breaks into a huge smile. “Stan!”

And just like that, they’re all back together. _Lucky seven_ , Mike thinks, and it’s a familiar thought. As if there’s some sort of higher power due to them all being in the same place.

More things start to come back as dinner goes on. It comes in bits and pieces throughout dinner, starting with small things like remembering Bill’s shitty bike (“you called that thing Silver,” Mike says with a slight teasing note, “and yeah it was ugly but it was faster than any of ours”) and Richie’s different Voices. They talk about movies at the old Capitol theater and the time spent in the Barrens and the quarry.

With the memories, Mike notices how much they’ve changed, or in some cases, how little they’ve changed.

Eddie can’t meet anyone’s eye when he says he’s a risk analyst, not a doctor like they’d hoped. Bev brushes past mentioning her husband, hand going to cover her arm. Ben dodges questions about a girlfriend or boyfriend, and Richie refuses to take any question about his life seriously. Stan talks freely about how much he loves his darling wife (and flips Riche the bird after he scoffs when Stan calls her “babylove”) but when the subject of children comes up, he changes the subject.

Mike enthusiastically talks about his career and his books when asked, but the second his personal life comes up he finds it gets awkward. Not that there’s much to share on that front, save a few short-lived flirtations, but the sense that he’s been missing something from his life has settled in the pit of his stomach.

He notices that Bill pointedly looks anywhere but at him when he says he’s never settled down, and again he wonders what his memory isn’t quite bringing up.

 _Knock it off_ , he tells himself sternly. _Even if you had a crush on him, you’re both different people now. You don’t just get to re-fall in love with your childhood crush because he grew up handsome and you’re just a lonely bastard._

When it is finally Bill’s turn to talk, he puts on a good front. He went to school “up the road a ways,” then came back and got a job at the library. He’s up for a promotion soon, might be head librarian next year when the current head retires. In his spare time, he writes, though he’s the first to admit his stories aren’t that good when prompted.

“Lemme read them,” Mike insists, nudging Bill with his arm as the rest of the table is occupied with Richie and Eddie bickering as they arm wrestle. “I have a couple friends in publishing, I can send your stuff their way.”

Bill blushes a little. “Thanks, but no one wants to read a story without an ending.”

A few moments later, Eddie yells something about taking his shirt off and kissing Richie and Mike is distracted as the table explodes into laughter again.

Finally, dinner is winding down when they get on the subject of why Bill called them all back.

“I crashed my car,” Eddie admits, “when Bill called.”

“I threw up.” Richie stares at a spot on the table. “I’m relieved now, that I’m here with you guys though. But, yeah. I threw up and… why are you all looking at me like that?”

“My heart started pounding so hard,” Ben adds.

“I started remembering things,” Mike says slowly. “The seven of us and… and something Bill said. ‘If It ever comes back—“

“‘—we’ll come back too.’” Bill looks grim. “Yeah, that’s what we said.”

Bev stiffens slightly, her demeanor changing as something comes back to her. “Pennywise.”

“Oh, that fucking clown.” Eddie’s voice sounds small.

Mike remembers yellow eyes and sharp teeth, remembers the sewers and the sight of bodies floating overhead and oh, fuck, that’s what he’d been forgetting.

It. That’s what It was.

Bill pulls out a notebook from his bag. “Twenty seven years ago, we fought It. And we stopped It for a while and we thought we won, but we d-d-didn’t kill It. For a long time, I hoped we had stopped It for good.” The longer he talks, the more his stutter becomes more pronounced. “But then, a week ago, a man named Adrian Mellon was slaughtered after some fucking homophobic bastards threw him off a bridge. And then kids started disappearing.”

Mike glances around the table. Richie looks like he might be sick again. The others are in varying stages of shock.

“You have to remember,” Bill continues. “Because last time we got lucky. It nearly killed all of us, at one point or another, and I don’t… I don’t think I can bury any of you. Not after G-G-Georgie.”

Eddie flinches slightly, patting his pockets as if he’s looking for something. “I need my fucking inhaler.”

“Thanks for killing the mood, Bill.” Richie scoffs, though it doesn’t sound convincing, and reaches for a fortune cookie. “I love coming back for a middle school reunion to hear that we’re gonna get fuckin’ murdered.”

Bev’s mouth is set in a determined line. “Beep beep, Richie. We defeated It once, we can do it again.”

Across from her, Ben nods. “She’s right. We’re all together again, just like we were then.”

“I trust Bill,” Mike says, because he does. He trusts all of his friends, even if he can barely remember them.

Stan looks thoughtful. “There’s something I think you should know. I remembered, when Bill called, that —“

And then Richie screams, because he’s opened his fortune cookie and a god damned eye has tumbled out and suddenly the table jerks as the rest of the cookies begin to vibrate.

* * *

“What the fuck?” Eddie can’t stop repeating himself as he paces around the bar at the Townhouse. “What the fuck, guys?”

“Yeah, we heard you the first time, Eds.” Richie’s sarcastic tone is undermined by how his hand shakes as he throws back another drink.

“You wanna slow down, or do you think that getting drunk is somehow gonna make fighting this thing easier?” Eddie shoots Richie a look, one that doesn’t hold any sort of fire behind it. Stan knows that look well — it’s when Eddie is more worried than angry. "Also, I've told you a thousand times, don't call me Eds."

“Enough.” That comes from Bill, who’s sitting jammed between Stan and Mike on a couch. His eyes keep flicking between them all, as if he’d hoped their little dinner would’ve gone better. Stan’s not sure why Bill expected anything other than shock and fear, but it’s nice to see that Bill’s ferocious belief in his friends hasn’t dimmed since they all left.

Richie looks like he wants to say something but instead he pours another drink, looking like he’s doing it deliberately to spite Eddie.

Bill sighs, then turns to Stan. “You had something to s-s-say, back at the restaurant. Before everything went to hell. What was it?”

Stan scrubs a hand over his face. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Try us,” Mike says kindly, and again Stan is thankful that the years haven’t dimmed Mike’s kindness in the same way that Bill’s hope hasn’t burned out either.

Eddie stops pacing, giving Stan his attention. Ben, who’s hovering behind Bev’s chair, gives Stan a small, encouraging smile. Bev is smoking, eyes distant.

 _She’s hiding something too_ , Stan thinks.

Stan drops his eyes to stare at a point on the carpet. “Do you remember, when we went to the sewers to save Bev, that I got separated from you all? That It… that It tried to kill me? It took the form of that woman in the painting and It bit me and I saw something.”

He glances up in time to see Bev frown slightly. Her focus snaps to Stan.

“I saw myself, dead.” Stan knows he must sound haunted, the weight of his vision weighing down on him. “I saw that I was going to die, that when Bill called I would try to kill myself. And I saw other things. Horrible things.”

“You saw all of us die,” Bev says.

It’s oddly a relief, hearing that he’s not alone in this. “Yes.”

Bev nods. “Me too. When I was in the Deadlights.”

Memories start to surface. Stan remembers the pain and terror as It charged at him, remembers screaming and crying at the others that they weren’t his friends because they left him. He remembers Bev floating ten feet off the ground, eyes blank until Ben had kissed her to wake her up.

She’d told them she’d seen them in the cistern again. But then she’d left, and then Stan had left later on and then he had forgotten it all.

“You both got caught in t-t-them,” Bill says, as if he’s piecing together a puzzle. “And so you both would have seen the same things.”

Stan nods. “I used to get nightmares. People dying, usually horribly. But since Bill called, I’ve recognized all of us in them.”

There’s one last thing he has to share, and it’s the hardest one of all. “And I did nearly kill myself. Just like how I saw.”

The air leaves the room. Bill flinches next to him.

“But then I heard a voice.” Stan relaxes slightly as he says that, as if he’s talking about an old friend. “It told me that my future wasn’t set in stone yet. And that’s when I knew I had to come back.”

Bill’s brow furrows. “Who was it?”

Stan shrugs a little. “Just a voice. It was weird, I kept thinking ‘ _maybe the turtle can help us_.’”

“Oh great, a turtle. Is it a magic turtle?” Richie grumbles.

Mike shoots him a glare. “You wanna be a little respectful?”

Richie glares back. “Sorry, maybe finding out one of my best friends nearly killed himself is a little upsetting so I’m trying to lighten the fucking mood! But first clowns and now weird talking turtles? What the hell are we in, some kind of stupid horror movie?”

Eddie nods. “You gotta admit, this is all a lot to process. Especially since we all just remembered that we grew up here.”

“Maybe,” Mike says. “But we owe it to Bill, and to Stan and Bev, to at least try to understand.”

He turns his attention to Bev, who’s lighting another cigarette.

“What did you see?”

Bev shakes her head slightly. “Nightmares, usually. I saw Stan die. Suicide, just like he said. I think I saw all of you kill yourselves at one point. Other times, it’s when we fight It. That’s when we die.”

Ben rests a comforting hand on her shoulder, and without even looking Bev covers it with her free hand.

She looks at Eddie. “Last night, I had a nightmare about Stan killing himself. And then I had a nightmare about you too.”

Eddie blinks. “Excuse me,” he says, just as Richie mutters some half-hearted joke about anything involving Eddie being a nightmare.

Bev nods. “I’m so sorry, but I saw… we were in the sewers and you… you died. Fighting It.”

Eddie gapes at her for a moment. And then his jaw sets and he nods once, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen,” Bill says, rising to his feet. “Stan changed what happened to him. That means that t-t-things could go differently.”

“Sure. It’s just my life we’re gambling with here,” Eddie says bitterly. There’s no fire in his voice, just resignation.

“It’s everyone’s lives,” Stan adds. “I keep remembering more and more, and I saw all of us die. Not just me and you.”

Bev takes a last drag from her cigarette before putting it out. She looks ferocious now, as if her initial fear has given way to a fiery courage. If Stan remembers her as well as he hopes he will come to, then he knows that look well and knows her bravery even better. “All these years, all the nightmares… if Stan is proof things can go differently, then we have to try.”

“So what do we do to survive?” Mike shifts on the couch so he can wrap an arm around Stan in a comforting gesture. Even though Mike is still mostly a stranger despite their returning memories, Stan leans into it, because the embrace is warm and familiar.

“Yeah, Bill, tell me you’ve got some kind of plan.” Ben looks more worried than ever.

Bill nods grimly. “I do.” 

* * *

As they walk through the streets of Derry in the early morning light, Eddie has time to reflect.

No one’s in the mood to talk after their disastrous dinner and the ensuing conversation. They’re all focused now that there’s a grim reminder of how dangerous Derry could be.

Eddie can’t get Bev’s words out of his mind. She saw him die. Stan said he did too. They both saw the future and his ends in tragedy.

His mind is circling through countless attempts at coping with this news. He tries to play the hero, telling himself that maybe if he dies then his friends will live, but that feels false and hollow. He briefly considers leaving, but the betrayal that would entail makes him sick. He won’t leave his friends. He promised them, after all.

They all die, that’s what Bev and Stan said. In different ways, but that’s what they saw. Both of them were vague on the details, which he appreciates. He doesn’t want to know how it happens just yet. That might be the last fucking straw, and he doesn’t want to spiral into some sort of self-pitying panic attack. He’s had enough of those to last a lifetime.

He wants to live so badly.

Deep down, he doesn’t think he will though. And he will have nothing to show for his life.

The sun slowly rises as they make their way to the Barrens. It’s Ben who first realizes why they’re there.

“The clubhouse,” he says, voice fond. “First thing I ever built.”

Richie grins. “Shit, yeah. This was it. We came here after the rock war, after we saved Homeschool’s ass.”

“Hey,” Mike says with a laugh. “In case you forgot, I shoved Bowers down that creepy well in Neibolt. I can save my own ass.”

Eddie feels some weight lift off his shoulder as Mike and Richie bicker good-naturedly while Bev interjects commentary with a grin on her face. It feels so achingly normal to be together, even with the supernatural threat hanging over their heads. He remembered right, when he thought about how much they loved each other on his way back home.

It’s as if no time has passed at all, even if enough years have gone by that they’re all different people now.

Bill is the one who finds the door. “Since I’m the only one who still remembers,” he says with a grin, hauling open a trapdoor in the forest floor.

Stan peers into the opening. “Do you know how many spiders are probably down there?”

“We’re adults, Stan, not fucking chickens,” Richie says as he starts to climb down the ladder. He pauses, then looks up. “Also, we’ve definitely had this conversation before.”

Something surfaces in Eddie’s memories. “Yeah, didn’t you use to say we should wear shower caps down there? To keep the spiders out of our hair?”

Stan shrugs, pursing his lips slightly. “Sounds sensible, so yes, it probably was my plan.”

Inside the clubhouse are memories long buried. There are comic books that are damp and wrinkled, posters with mold and dirt on them, a creaky hammock that Eddie has a memory of sharing with Richie. It’s a time capsule in a way, and Eddie can remember more and more as he peers through the gloom to the relics of their childhoods.

“Why’d you bring us back here?” Bev picks up an old comic book, thumbing through the pages. “This isn’t where Pennywise lives now, right?”

Bill lets out a small laugh. “I hope not.” He looks around, a mournful look on his face, and Eddie realizes with a sinking heart just how lonely Bill must have been back here all this time. “No, I brought you here because I figured some privacy might be better to explain how we’re gonna defeat It.”

“Listen, Bill,” Richie says from where he’s standing near the trapdoor, “you’ve always had a hero complex. But if we couldn’t kill It last time, what’s different now?”

“We know more,” Bill says. “After most of you left, Mike and I spent every day in the library, learning what we could about It. One day, Mike found something.”

“I did?” Mike blinks from where he’s hunched over in a corner. “Uh, Bill, if you’re counting on me remembering it right now…”

“The Ritual of Chud.” Bill says the phrase with such finality and gravitas that Eddie bites his lip to keep from laughing. He looks over to see Richie’s eyebrows shoot up; he meets Eddie’s gaze and mouths “Chud” back at him and Eddie covers his mouth to stop himself from collapsing into laughter.

The others look suitably confused, with Ben actually voicing his concern. “Ritual of what?”

“Chud.” Bill looks at them each in turn. “It’s an ancient battle of wits, and it’s the only way to kill It for g-g-good.”

“So we what, start shouting riddles at It like we’re Bilbo Baggins?” Richie snickers.

Bev sets down the comic in her hands, sharp eyes focused on Bill. “You’ve got to admit, last time we won by beating the shit out of It. It has a physical form, so we can’t just rely on… metaphysical weirdness, or whatever this is.”

“I know. I thought the same thing.” Bill shrugs. “But then Mike did more research, and I did some more after he left, and I’m positive. This is the only thing that we can do to defeat It. But first, we’ll need to make a sacrifice.”

“Wait a minute,” Riche interjects. “Bev and Stan already said we’re all gonna die, so why do we need to speed up that process.”

“I don’t mean sacrifice one of us,” Bill says, frustration clear in his tone. “In order to bring Pennywise to us on our terms, rather than waiting for him to just kill us one by one, we need to sacrifice a token from our childhoods. It thrives on the f-f-f-fear and imaginations of children, so we’ll need to remember that summer and remember our own belief that we could stop It to win.”

Mike nods slowly, brow furrowing as if he’s in deep thought. “Belief is a powerful tool. We believed we could stop Pennywise last time. Makes sense that’s how we’ll win this time.”

He looks at Stan, who’s hovering between Richie and Eddie. “And you believed that voice, that you could change your future. Maybe that counts for something.”

Stan exhales slowly. “You’re right. It’s worth a shot, because I can’t think of anything else that could work.”

Eddie wants to snap that they’re betting an awful lot on the power of belief, like they’re talking about a child’s faith in Santa Claus rather than their ability to stop a powerful monster who wants to kill them all. But there’s no point in playing dead or running away. He’s going to fight for his friends, until It kills him or they win. He doesn’t have another option.

So he says “They’re right. So, what do we need to do?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, it's chapter three! And Pennywise is finally going to show up, the bitch.
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who's read, left comments or kudos, and in general supported this fic! All my love to the Wonder Squad discord for always being there for me to discuss running into a wall with the plot and for helping me figure out which way to go next.
> 
> Again, I am playing pretty fast and loose with canon here, and I've invented a couple scenes for the characters in this chapter that are flashbacks to the summer of 1989. Stan's is drawn directly from a scene in the book, while Mike's and Eddie's are original creations that could technically be canon.
> 
> Trigger warning for Pennywise's general.... Pennywise-ness, and Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ parenting.

The Hanlon farm doesn’t look quite the same as Mike remembers it. 

Whoever bought the land has clearly forgotten about it. The old farmhouse is falling into disrepair, paint peeling on the old porch and windows boarded up and shuttered. The barn in the distance is in a similar state, with one door half hanging off the hinges.

It makes Mike want to cry, in an odd way. This was the place he grew up, where he spent years with his parents, happy as he could be. This is where his dad taught him to ride a bike. Where his mom would tell him about the stars as they stared up at the night sky from the porch swing. A place for Christmases and birthdays and a soft sort of magic that only exists before the trials of adulthood sink in.

Now, those are just memories and the actual farm has grown old in his absence, just as he has.

Mike stands by the mailbox, observing quietly for a long moment. The silence is almost pleasant, in a way. He can hear birds singing nearby. The wind rustles the trees. It’s almost peaceful enough for him to pretend he’s here on a less strange mission.

When Bill had first told them about tokens — “you have to find s-s-s-something personal” — Mike had wondered what the fuck he was supposed to pull out of thin air. He didn’t have anything from that summer on him; all his childhood belongings were in storage in Florida, back where his mom was in a nursing home. 

But he’d felt oddly protective of Bill as Richie and Eddie had exclaimed that splitting up was a dumb idea; he’d insisted they let Bill explain before shutting him down completely. The grateful look Bill had given him made his heart swell slightly. 

So they’d all gone separate ways as they’d left the Barrens. Eddie had said something about picking up a prescription and Mike noticed that Richie’s eyes were fixed on Eddie’s retreating back before turning and walking in the opposite direction. Ben had quietly asked Bev if she wanted him to come with her, and she gave him a warm smile before walking away. 

Bill was trailing behind them all, looking lost. “I thought this would be easier,” he said to Stan, who was at his side. 

Stan gave him a sympathetic look but said “Bill, with everything you’ve said, you can’t have imagined this would’ve gone easily.”

Shrugging, Bill sighed. “I hoped Mike… I hoped for a lot of things. I’m just glad everyone made it back.”

Mike decided not to listen after that. Bill had hoped he’d what?

So Mike walked back to the Townhouse, hoping that a walk might clear his mind and he’d figure out where to go from there. When no divine inspiration struck by the time he reached his room, he grabbed his keys. If he couldn’t find anything in town, maybe home held a clue.

And now he was back on familiar ground, hoping his memory would turn up something new.

Mike lets his eyes drift close, allowing the warmth of the sun to sink into his skin. He tries to recall anything, and for a moment his mind is blank.

And then he remembers Bill.

_It was August of 1989, a week after Bev had gone missing and they’d defeated It. In two weeks, Bev will leave town and the forgetting will begin, but they don’t realize that now. Instead, they’re gathered at the Hanlon farm._

_An old shoebox sat next to a neatly dug hole in the ground at the foot of a towering oak tree that had been home to a tire swing for many summers. Mike stood next to it, looking proud._  
_The time capsule had been his idea, after all._

_It was Bill’s idea of what they should put in there. He wanted to write a letter to his adult self, one day when he had hopefully outgrown Derry and the pain of burying his brother, in the hopes that one day things would be better. He wanted to remember certain things about who he was, so he did what he did best and put his pen to paper._

_The others, as they usually did, had followed Bill’s lead._

_“Does anyone want to read their letter out loud?” Stan turned his folded up note over in his hands. He still had bandages on his face from where he’d been attacked “Or do we want to save that for when we dig them up?”_

_After a moment’s silence, he shook his head. “Guess that answers it.”_

_Bev placed her letter in the box first. “For when I come back,” she said determinedly. “Things will be better, and when we come back it won’t be because of It. It’ll be because we want to.”_

_Richie dropped his note in with less ceremony. “Speak for yourself. I’m gonna be so famous that I won’t remember any of you losers.” He paused, then grinned wildly. “Though I’ll never forget your mom, Eds.”_

_“Beep beep,” Eddie said crossly as he placed his letter inside as well. “And don’t call me Eds.”_

_Ben set his inside next. “I think we’ll all still be friends,” he said kindly. “I don’t think we can just forget this kind of friendship.”_

_“I hope so,” Stan added, neatly tucking his letter inside._

_Bill said nothing as he set his note inside. Mike went last, setting his letter on top of Bill’s, and then taking a strip of photos out of his pocket as well, setting them in the box so they were facing up towards the sky._

_“From the photo booth at the Capitol,” he said by way of explanation. “So we remember everything about who we were.”_

_Mike slowly placed the lid of the shoebox back on, and then lowered it into the dirt. All seven of them pushed the dirt over the box, patting the earth to flatten it, letting their letters disappear with the hope they’d find them again some day._

Mike set off towards the tree. It still stood, tall and proud against the blue July sky, and Mike dropped to his knees to start digging the loose earth with his hands. His jacket is abandoned to the side as he continues to dig, and finally his fingers brush something solid. 

The shoebox is still there.

Opening it, the first sight knocks the wind out of him. There the seven of them are, preserved in a photograph. Smiling wide, eyes bright and happy. That summer might have held so much fear, but they’d been happy because they were together through it all.

Mike feels tears prick his eyes. He realizes that his friends could very well be strangers. He has no idea what they’re like as adults, if they’re happy. He’s missed birthdays and weddings, hasn’t been there to comfort his friends or celebrate their triumphs, and if Bill hadn’t called them back he would’ve never remembered any of them. 

Part of him wants to weep like a child, but he forces himself to breathe and rummage through the box. When he finds his note, he takes it out and sticks it in his pocket. The photos follow, though for a different reason. He doesn’t plan on sacrificing that bit of the past, but rather his own childish dreams for his future.

Whatever they were, they’re long since gone. He doesn’t mind letting that part of the past die. 

The rest of the notes he leaves in the box, gently replacing the lid. He tucks it under his arm and stands, meaning to return to the car. 

He’s passing the barn when he hears something call out to him.

“Mikey…. oh Mikey….”

It’s a singsong voice, and it makes his blood run cold. Mike turns towards the gaping doors of the barn that open to the interior.

Something is standing there.

“Mikey… you think you can defeat me?”

Mike thinks he should run, but his feet are rooted to the ground. So instead he says, “yes. I do.”

The shape laughs. “Foolish child. I am Eternal, the eater of worlds. You and your friends can only die.”

“I won’t let you hurt any of them!” Mike feels a sense of righteousness coursing through him, as if he can turn the tide alone.

“It’s too late,” the shape says. “I’ll take them all, and then I’ll take you as well. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Your foolish little ritual can only prolong the inevitable. And when you are most afraid, when you are powerless and unable to fight… I think I’ll kill your little friend Stanley first. I almost got him before he even came back, but now I’ll get to finish the job.”

The shape shifts in the dark and Mike sees sharp teeth and a white face with red, drooling lips. 

Pennywise leers and takes a step forward out of the dark towards the light. Mike holds his ground though, unwilling to let another bully make him feel small.

“Run, farmboy,” It says mockingly. “Run far and away. Billy boy’s missed you this long, why not break his heart again? Turn and run, before I make you watch them all die.”

And suddenly the clown’s jaw unhinges, revealing rows of shark teeth and It lunges forward. That’s enough to make Mike turn and run, sprinting towards his car, clutching a dirty shoebox to his chest as if that will save his friends. 

When he reaches the car, he turns to see if he’s being pursued. The clown is gone, leaving nothing but a mocking laugh in the air. Mike lets out a shaky exhale, fumbling for his keys. He takes one last look at his childhood home as he settles the shoebox onto the passenger seat, and then he lets himself drive away from his memories. 

* * *

Stan’s phone rings as he stands outside the synagogue. He’d come there to reflect for a long moment, remembering with a small smile how his bar mitzvah speech had gone. 

“I’m a Loser,” he’d said defiantly, “and no matter what, I always fucking will be.”

He knows who’s calling without even needing to look at the caller ID. “Hey, babylove.”

“Oh good,” Patty says, and Stan can picture her smile, “you answered. I was worried you’d be too busy with your friends to take my call.”

“For you, I’m never too busy.” Stan lets himself take one last look before heading down the street towards his old house. Until he figured out what his token was, he figured he’d take in the sights of Derry. Not that he had many fond memories of the town, outside of being with his friends. “Anything wrong?”

“Not really.” Patty sighs. “I just worry, you know. I know this is your business, and it’s not my place to pry, but you looked like you saw a ghost when you got that call from your friend. I’m scared you’re in trouble.”

 _How right you are_ , Stan thinks to himself, _because I can’t stop thinking that my time with you was the eye of the storm, and that now it’s come back to wash me away._

Instead, he says “I swear, Patty, I’m alright. I’ll only be here a couple more days, and then we can reschedule our trip. I’ll introduce you to everyone too, they’ve heard all about you. Did you know my friend from when I was a kid, Bev, that it’s Beverly Rogan? Don’t you have her designs…”

A car speeds by and the noise startles Stan; he gasps and turns towards the road, half expecting to see a monster crawling out of the sewer grate with arms outstretched towards him, ready to finish the job…

“Stan?” Patty sounds concerned again. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I’ll call you back, babylove.” This is the first time Stan has lied to her, and it feels wrong to do so. He promises himself that he’ll tell her the whole truth, when he comes home.

If he comes home.

Patty says that she loves him and then the phone goes dead, leaving Stan alone in Derry again. His friends are scattered across town, and he’s staring at the sewer waiting for It to come out of there and attack.

He knows that he has been attacked when he was alone before. But not just in the sewers, though that time nearly killed him. No, this was before… before…

_It was late July, 1989. His bar mitzvah was the next day, and Stan had found himself unable to sleep that night. His parents were still asleep when he slipped out for an early morning walk, trying to clear his head._

_The world was weighing heavily on his thirteen year old shoulders. He missed his friends terribly, but outside of seeing them in passing on the street, he hadn’t spent time with them since Neibolt._

_He had meant what he’d said to Mike that day. “Don’t make me go in there, I can’t go in there,” he cried, and he was sure of it at that moment, until Eddie had started screaming from inside and Bev had charged in, with the rest of them on her heels._

_The sky was still grey as he walked through the park, his favorite guide to birdwatching in hand. He hoped he might find a quiet place to sit and observe for a while, let the rational and the scientific calm his mind._

_Instead, something stepped on a branch behind him, causing him to spin around, guide clutched to his chest._

_She was there, the woman from the painting. She emerged from behind a tree, mouth split into that usual cruel, lopsided grin. She shuffled towards him, arms already outstretched to grab him and drag him away._

_Stan was rooted to the spot with terror. He knew he couldn’t outrun her, and there was no one around to save him. He was going to die here, become one of the other missing kids, and his friends would never know what happened to him. He’d never get to talk to Bill again, or listen to Richie’s jokes. He wouldn’t see Eddie again, or Bev, or Mike, or Ben…_

_The thought of his friends sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. Without thinking, he thrust out his guide in front of him, thinkingly wildly that it would protect him like a shield._

_The woman stumbled a little, and Stan believed harder than he ever had that the book would protect him. Like some sort of mantra, he began reciting the names of the birds in the book. “Mourning dove, American robin, osprey, bluejay, bald eagle, oriole, chickadee…”_

_The woman snarled but began to retreat. Stan took a step forward, book still outstretched. “Sandhill crane, cerulean warbler, goldfinch, northern cardinal!”_

_The woman began retreating faster. Stan continued to yell until she was far enough away that her form began to melt and shift, revealing Pennywise standing there. The clown let out a shrieking laugh, baring sharp teeth, and Stan found his legs again, turning to run._

_“Run, Stanley!” The clown called after him. “You can’t escape me! I’ll kill you one day, boy! I am the eater of worlds and your book can’t save you! You’ll float too!!”_

_Stan kept running though, far and away, until he was racing up the steps of his own porch and the door was finally locked behind him._

_He had never realized he could be that brave, and so he started writing a new speech for the ceremony._

Stan exhales shakily, bringing himself back. It was not here at the moment, and he was safe for the time being. 

He wondered what it was about that day that had saved his life. Bill had spoken about belief, when trying to explain the Ritual of Chüd; maybe it had been because he believed that his old guide had actually been a shield? 

“Belief is a powerful tool.” Mike had said it too, and Stan trusted Mike.

He wonders where the book is now, and it suddenly hits. He’s been wondering about a token, and now he remembered. 

He retraces his steps, racing past the synagogue and towards the outskirts of town. The Barrens stand as they always have, and he stumbles through the greenery, trying to remember familiar landmarks.

He half trips onto the old clubhouse door, yelping slightly as he tumbles to the forest floor. Brushing off the leaves, he throws open the door and climbs back down, heading towards the pile of books in the corner.

There are old pulp novels and a couple notebooks that Bill and Mike had filled with stories, and underneath it all —

His guide. He’d left it here one day and forgotten about it.

Stan holds it in his hands, smiling down at it. Something from his childhood, a memory that makes him feel brave and strong. He still doesn’t quite know if this ritual will work, but he trusts Bill and his friends enough to try.

He turns, and freezes.

There’s a painting in the corner he knows doesn’t belong.

It’s the painting of the woman, from his father’s office. He knows where that painting is now — locked in a storage unit after his father’s death — so it feels impossible that it’s here now. He knows it isn’t true. That it can’t be real.

“It’s not real, Stan?”

The painting speaks with Pennywise’s voice, lips moving on canvas. “You always said that, and yet it was real enough to leave scars, wasn’t it?”

Stan brushes his fingers over the side of his face, where there are faint white lines. Teeth marks.

“You saw them die already,” Pennywise coos in a sickly voice. “Tell me, do you think you can save any of them? You can’t change their fates, you or Bevvie. You’re all gonna float, yes you will, float and float and float and die.”

And then the painting shifts, Judith coming to life, and Stan sprints forward. She lunges out of her frame as he hits the ladder, and with a speed he didn’t know he had Stan hauls himself out of the house, slamming the trapdoor down on the woman’s screaming face.

Stan collapses backwards onto the forest floor, guide still clutched in his hand. He exhales shakily, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“Just you fucking wait,” he says, hoping the clown hears him. “No one is going to die but you.”

With that, he gets up and heads back to the Townhouse, leaving nothing but birdsong behind.

* * *

Eddie is so caught up in staring at the windows of Keene’s pharmacy that he doesn’t see the balloons until they hit him in the face. He bats them out of the way, unable to stop himself from snarling “asshole!” In the direction of the person holding them. 

He knows it’s an overreaction, but he’s prone to that, or so his mother said. “Eddie bear, you always take things too far,” she’d say disapprovingly. “Always getting angry and threatening to leave me, how could I have raised such an ungrateful son?”

Eddie had tried to leave her, multiple times. First was college, but then came her first heart attack. After that, he’d transferred to a school closer to home so he could take care of her while still attending classes. He’d tried to leave after graduation, but she’d seen him getting into the car and had caused such a scene that he’d been afraid to call the police.

The last time was when he was 28. They had moved to New York City after Eddie had been hired to a prominent insurance firm as a low-level analyst. He’d packed his bag and fled to a hotel. He’d stayed there two days before crawling home, where his mother fussed and made him apologize over and over.

He met Myra two months later. They dated for five years, and then his mother had died and suddenly he was proposing and she accepted. And that was that. 

Eddie knows his marriage is loveless and bitter, he really does. But it’s familiar, and safe, and even if he and Myra both are miserable there is a bitter sense of comfort in the familiarity. Even if he wanted to change, he wouldn’t know where to start.

The edges of an asthma attack start to creep in; Eddie can feel his breath growing shallow. He hasn’t picked up his new inhaler yet, so instead of using that he tries to just make himself breathe and relax. Panicking now won’t do him any good.

Maybe this is how they saw me die, he thinks hysterically.

A voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Richie replies “just breathe, Eds, c’mon. You remember? Like how we practiced.”

And yes, they had practiced… they…

_It was the first week of August, 1989. In two days time, they would face off against It for the last time that summer, but Eddie didn’t know that. Instead, he found himself sobbing in the alley next to Keene’s pharmacy, weeping into one hand and trying not to look at his cast. The burning sensation of panic was clawing at his lungs as he thought about what Greta had said to him._

_“They’re placebos. Placebo means bullshit,” she’d said before scrawling “loser” across his cast._

_Eddie wiped furiously at his eyes, breath coming in shaky inhales and exhales. He was a loser, with no friends now that his mother wouldn’t let him see them. She said she loved him, but how could she if she’s been forcing him to take medications that didn’t work. If she kept him from his friends who loved him. She said she loved him, but Eddie was fast coming to realize it was a monstrous sort of love, the wrong kind. Love shouldn't mean eating someone alive._

_“Eds?”_

_Eddie sniffs, wiping at his eyes again. “Don’t call me that,” he stutters as Richie leaned his bike against the wall._

_Richie crouched down in front of him. “Whoa, calm down Spaghetti,” he said, looking concerned for once in his life rather than joking. “What happened?”_

_Eddie feels a fresh wave of tears come on as he sticks out his cast to show Richie. “She said my medicine was fake. That my mom was making me take bullshit fake pills.”_

_Richie looked at the cast for a long moment, before meeting Eddie’s eyes, even more serious. “She said that?”_

_“She said her dad told her…” Eddie trailed off as a fresh wave of sadness hit him; he feels embarrassed to be crying in public, but if anyone had to see, at least it was Richie._

_“Hey, hey, hey,” Richie said, hands hovering uselessly at his sides. “Just breathe, okay? C’mon, in and out. Breathe with me.”_

_Eddie takes a few trembling inhales. Richie closed his eyes for a moment, and then reached for Eddie’s good hand. “In and out. C’mon, Eds. You’re okay.”_

_For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of Eddie’s ragged breathing and Richie’s quiet reassurances._

_Finally, Eddie felt his breathing return to normal. “Thanks Rich,” he said, giving Richie’s hand a small squeeze._

_Richie dropped his hand like he’d been burned. “No problem. Besides, no one can give you a hard time but me, right?”_

_Eddie let out a weak laugh. “Beep beep, Richie.” He leaned back against the brick wall. “You on your way to the arcade.”_

_Riche half-flinched. “Yeah. Told you, I started my Street Fighter training.”_

_“Maybe I’ll come with you tomorrow,” Eddie said, feeling bold. “I’ve been out too long today, but mom can’t keep me locked up forever.”_

_Richie looked sad for a moment, and Eddie didn’t understand why. “Sure, Eds. See you tomorrow.”_

_“Bye Richie.” Eddie stood up, brushing dirt from his pants, and watched as Richie grabbed his bike and began to walk away._

Forcing himself back to reality, Eddie exhales. He never had found out why Richie looked so scared that day. Maybe something had happened between him breaking his arm and that day, something Richie had never thought to share.

But even as he says that, Eddie finds it strange. If he remembers correctly, Richie was his best friend. They shared everything together. Why would he hide that?

Trying to push it out of his mind, Eddie crosses the street and heads into the pharmacy. As he enters, he sees Greta Keene, now far older, stocking Advil in one aisle.

Mr. Keene himself is still behind the counter, looking frail. He peers at Eddie through his glasses as he approaches. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m here to pick up a prescription.” Eddie feels like a kid again, here on his mother’s orders. “For an Edward Kaspbrak.”

“Kaspbrak…” Keene slowly rummages through the prescriptions until he finds the right bag. “Kaspbrak, I remember you.” 

He hands the bag to Eddie. “How’s your mom?”

Eddie tries to ignore his leer. “She passed a few years back. Cancer.”

“Oh.” Keene sniffs. “That’s a shame.”

“It is,” Eddie says half-heartedly as he pays. Grabbing the bag containing his inhaler, he turns to leave when he hears —

“Eddie, what are you looking for?”

Eddie turns around. Keene is already puttering away from the counter, and the voice was definitely not his. Eddie finds his eyes drawn to the basement door, which is ajar, beckoning him towards the darkness.

“Eddie…” There’s that voice again. He knows Stan talked about a voice, but this one can’t be the same one that saved him. This voice is frightening and oddly familiar. Eddie knows he’s heard it before, but he can’t quite remember where or when.

He does remember being afraid of it though.

Slowly, he steps down into the basement. “Hello?”

The basement is lit by a green, dim light. Eddie blinks as his eyes adjust to it, looking for the source of the voice. He slowly walks farther away from the stairs, heading towards the back. He knows he’s behaving like an idiot in a movie, but he needs to know what’s down there. He has to face his fears.

“Do you think your inhaler will help me, Eddie?”

“FUCK!” Eddie can’t help but scream in terror as the leper appears before him, arms outstretched, tongue lolling. It lunges for him and Eddie backs away, those arms missing him by inches. 

Lunging again, the leper catches hold of Eddie’s jacket, and Eddie twists backwards, trying to get away. “You can’t get better, Eddie! You’re sick, you’ve always been sick inside! Come home to mother, Eddie!”

“NO! Get OFF me!” Eddie snarls as he twists again. There’s a ripping sound and he’s finally free to run towards the back stairs, stumbling up them as the leper’s growls turn into the sharp and cruel laugh he remembers Pennywise having.  
Greta is standing at the door. “Why are you yelling, moron? There’s nothing down there!”

Eddie doesn’t bother to stop, just pushes the door the stumbles out into the hot sunshine. Ripping open the bag with his inhaler, he takes a pull, letting it soothe him.

“It’s a placebo. Placebo means bullshit.” He hears Greta’s voice in his head, and for a moment he’s all of thirteen again, embarrassed and hurt and lost.

“Fuck this town,” he mutters, before heading back to the Townhouse, wanting nothing more than to get this stupid ritual over with. To return back home to his normal, miserable life.

Still, a treacherous part of him has begun to hope that maybe, with his friends at his side, maybe things can be better. Maybe he can make his life less miserable. Maybe he’ll be happy somehow.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I still mad that the line "Eddie, what are you looking for?" never came up in IT Chapter Two? You bet! Also, please just imagine that Bill, Ben, Bev, and Richie are having essentially the same scenes they had in the movie in this fic while finding their tokens. 
> 
> I have a tumblr! Come follow me and yell at nedstax.tumblr.com!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added an extra chapter because I want to at least spend half of the fic on a post Derry world and this fic is getting a bit longer than anticipated. Also, you'll notice I took the slow burn tag off the fic because one of the main couples decided not to be as slow burn-y as they should have. You know how characters can be.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who keeps reading and responding to this fic! You all are my favorite people in the world.

Mike parks outside the library, and for a moment just sits in his car. There’s something comforting about the Derry library, something he can’t quite put his finger on. He tries to remember what he can as he waits; a few memories of Bill surface, and once more he can’t shake the idea that there was more to those memories than he is able to recall.

He grabs the shoebox from the seat next to him when he gets out of the car. Maybe he can persuade Bill to share what he wrote, all those years ago. 

The library is empty, except for where Bill is sitting at one of the tables. He’s pouring over his journal, pen in hand, and Mike simply looks at him for a minute. There’s an aching familiarity about Bill, one that he doesn’t have for the others. He loves all his friends, that much is certain, but with Bill there is something different. Something special.

Bill looks up and spots Mike. For a moment, he just stares.

Mike feels a little self conscious under Bill’s gaze. “I got something on my face or…?”

“No.” Bill sounds a little wistful. “It’s just, I s-s-s-spent a long time hoping I’d see you again.” He pauses, then flushes. “All of you, really. Not just… fuck.”

He ducks his head down briefly in a way Mike finds endearing, then glances back at Mike. His eyes land on the shoebox in Mike’s hand. “Is that our time capsule?”

“You remember!” Mike grins, crossing the room to slide into a chair opposite Bill and set the box on the table. “Why didn’t you go dig it up?”

“Felt wrong to do it alone.” Bill takes off the lid, smiling. His face shifts into a frown as he peers inside. “Where’s the photograph?”

Mike leans back in his chair. “I took it. For old times sake.”

“You’re not going to sacrifice that, are you?” 

“No, that’s what my letter is for. I think that makes as good a token as any.”

Bill relaxes at that. “I always wondered what you wrote.”

Mike laughs. “I could say the same. It was your idea, those letters.” 

The unspoken truth that Bill had never had the chance to chase his future hangs over them both. 

Bill takes out his letter, turning it over in his hands. “I’ll read mine if you read me yours.”

Mike shrugs. “Fine. But I wasn’t much of a writer back then. I got better as time went on though.”

“I know.” Bill blushes again. “I read your books. Nonfiction was never my thing but you, you write good.”

Mike feels himself flush a little at that. “Thanks.”

There’s a moment’s awkward silence, then Mike clears his throat. He takes his letter from his pocket and unfolds it. 

“To me,” he begins. “I used to believe that fear was the most powerful emotion, but it’s not. If anything is, it’s love. Without the love and friendship the Losers and I have, we would’ve been done for. We believed that we could win, and we did. If It ever comes back, we’ll win again. I know we will.”

Mike pauses to glance up at Bill, who’s listening intently, before continuing. “But before It comes back, I hope that you’ve lived. I hope you got to see the ocean, and traveled, and made your parents proud. I hope you got out of this town, and didn’t look back, but that you stayed in touch with all the Losers. I hope you’re all still the best of friends and that you always will be.”

His throat feels tight, and Mike pauses to breathe before finishing. “If you do come back, then be brave, stand, and believe, in yourself, your friends, and the love you have for one another. Together, you’ll be able to win. The Lucky Seven, together again. You’re strongest together, and remember always: I love them allI. love them all so much.”

With shaking hands, Mike sets the letter down. He wipes at his eyes, then glances at Bill, who’s eyes are similarly bright. “You wanna read your letter now, or am I the only sap in town?”

“I think I’ll wait,” Bill says softly. “For a different time.”

“No fair,” Mike says with a smile. “You promised.”

Bill doesn’t smile back. His eyes are still bright and distant. “I did,” he says quietly.

Mike inhales at that, assuming the worst. “I’m sorry I left, that we all did.”

“Don’t be,” Bill says firmly. “I’m not angry you got to have a life, Mikey. We talked about that the day we decided I’d s-s-stay. I wanted to be the one who kept watch, for Georgie. Besides, you deserved better than to stay in this stupid town.”

Mike nods. “I wish I’d remembered.”

“I wish you had too,” Bill says. “I missed you.”

For a moment, Bill looks nervous before saying, “what do you remember though?”

Mike thinks for a moment. “I remember how much I hated this town until I met you all. I remember that you used to come bother me every day after school to tell me all about classes and what stupid shit you and Richie got up to.”

Bill laughs. “Bothered? You never complained once, you always were so happy to see me each day.”

Mike laughs. “Yeah, guess I was.” He pauses. “I remember when my dad died, you were the only Loser still in town and you were there the entire time.” He thinks even harder, because the fog is clearing. He remembers a fall afternoon, and Bill, all of seventeen…

Mike freezes. “And the fall after, you kissed me.”

Bill blinks, taken aback. “You…y-y-you remembered?”

“I do now.” Mike exhales. “I knew it, I knew from what I remembered that there was _something_ I forgot, about you and me.” 

The revelations hangs over them for a moment, and then Mike says. “I loved you. You were my first love.”

Bill drops his eyes down to the shoebox. “I said I’d find you again, that day we decided I’d stay. That if It was dead, I would find you again anyways. ‘Course, that was s-s-stupid of me to say. You didn’t remember me until a couple days ago, how would you have remembered me without coming back here?”

“I think I would’ve known you anyways,” Mike says without thinking, because he knows that it’s true. He would known Bill anywhere; hell, he knew him the second he’d called. The Losers were all a part of each other now, but Mike thinks he’s always known Bill best. 

Bill abruptly gets up from the table. “I can’t do this.” With that, he turns and walks away, leaving Mike sitting alone.

For a few moments, Mike stares at his retreating back. He doesn’t know what he should say here. He remembers the depth of his feelings for Bill when they were younger, but time has passed. Neither of them know each other. There are 23 years unaccounted for between the last time they saw each other and now.

He wants to know Bill as he is today, beyond Pennywise and their returning memories. He wants to know him as well as he used to. Mike knows it’s foolish to hope that his childhood romance could be rekindled, but stranger things have truly happened in the past 48 hours. He thinks that maybe if they survive, there’s a chance. 

He knows he wants this chance.

Mike gets up, following Bill into the stacks. “Bill, wait!”

Bill finally turns around. “Like I s-s-said, I waited and I’m not angry. But unless you still feel the s-s-s-same, I don’t want to keep pretending like we can pick up where we left off! You’ve gone on, you’ve lived a w-w-whole life without remembering me, so we can’t pretend that didn’t happen, and things haven’t changed!”

Mike exhales. “You’re right, okay? I can’t just say I’m still in love with you because I don’t know Bill Denbrough at age forty the same way I knew you at seventeen.”

Bill looks hurt, but Mike continues. “I can’t even say that I want to try again, because we could be dead in a few hours! But maybe… if we don’t die, maybe we can try. Because I remember you, Bill, and you were the best part of this place for me.”

Mike takes a step forward. “Please. I can’t promise anything but that.”

Bill exhales shakily. “I missed you,” he repeats, and suddenly Mike finds himself rushing forward to throw his arms around Bill. It feels like a new sort of homecoming, and Bill clings to him, shaking slightly. Mike hugs him tightly, regretting all the wasted time, the years they lost being apart. 

He said they had to try, and he really hopes that one day, they can be happy like they were so briefly as kids. He isn’t sure he loves Bill the same just yet, but maybe they can love each other better than before. 

There’s a clattering noise behind them and Mike lets go of Bill to spin around. What he sees is not what he expected to see at all.

“Is that a skateboard?” 

It seems to be, rolling towards them of its own accord. It stops a few feet away and then flips onto its side, revealing what looks to be bloody lettering on the bottom. 

Bill pushes past Mike to take a few steps towards it, one hand extended towards Mike as if to push him out of harms way. Mike takes a couple steps forward as well, cautious as ever. 

The bottom of the skateboard reads “won’t be there for him either.”

Bill curses. “F-f-fuck!”

“What does this mean?” Mike glances at Bill. “Is this a trick?”

“No, it’s the kid! The kid who lives in my old h-h-house, the kid from the restaurant!” Bill looks at Mike. “I’m sorry, I gotta go.”

Mike remembers the kid, who’d recognized Richie and come up to talk to them and had gotten yelled at for his trouble. “You saw him again?”

Bill nods. “And now Pennywise is going to kill him, unless I go now!”

“No, Bill, don’t!” Mike grabs for Bill’s hand. “Don’t go alone, okay? I’ll go with you.”

“It just wants me!” Bill looks at Mike desperately. “You gotta s-s-stay here, you gotta keep watch for the others. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Bill…” Mike doesn’t want to let him go.

Bill looks at him, then does something surprising. He brings Mike’s hand where it’s still folded in his to his lips, kissing Mike’s knuckles. “You said we gotta s-s-survive, right? I swear, I’ll be back. This is something I’ve gotta do, since this is all my fault.”

“It’s never been your fault,” Mike says earnestly.

“Oh, how I wish that were true,” Bill says sadly before dropping Mike’s hand and, without another look back, leaving the library and Mike behind.

Mike exhales. He can wait, he tells himself. Bill waited this long. Mike can wait for a change.

* * *

Ben and Bev are sitting on the stairs when Stan arrives back at the Townhouse. They don’t hear Stan approach at first, too caught up in their conversation. Bev is holding an aged piece of paper in her hands, and Stan thinks that Ben’s eyes are a moment away from turning into cartoon hearts. 

Ben’s crush had never been well hidden to everyone but Bev. 

“Hey,” Stan says by way of greeting, “did anyone else run into our old friend Pennywise while on their little walk?”

Bev’s face falls. “You could say that,” she says grimly. 

Ben finally tears his eyes away from Bev to look up at Stan. “You okay?”

Stan shrugs. “I mean, this is Derry. Okay is a relative idea here.”

Both Ben and Bev chuckle at that. “Sounds about right,” Ben says.

“God, I can’t believe Bill stayed here all this time,” Bev says softly, looking back down at what Stan can now tell is a postcard in her hand. “Do you think it was lonely?”

Ben looks somewhat hurt. “Had to be, remembering all that without any of us.”

“All that time, just waiting.” Stan feels almost guilty. He wouldn’t trade a moment of his life with Patty for anything, but he wishes he could’ve been more of a comfort to his friend who had stayed behind. “At least we can make up for that now, assuming we all don’t… you know…”

Bev narrows her eyes. “No one is dying, Stan.”

Stan wants to argue that she can’t be sure of that, based on what they’ve both seen, but Ben interrupts. “And then what happens, assume we all live. Do we forget again?”

“Don’t you want to?” Bev shrugs. “I don’t want to remember being scared shitless.”

Ben looks like he wants to say more, and then the door to the Townhouse slams open.

Richie stomps in, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looks pale and angry, shoulders hunched against the world. It’s such a far cry from the easy-going attitude he had as a kid that Stan immediately wants to comfort him.

“Rich —"

But Riche pushes past him. Ben and Bev rise to their feet but Richie shoves past them too. “Move. I’m leaving.”

“What?” Ben’s brow furrows. “You can’t just leave, we owe it to Bill to —“

“No, I don’t owe anyone, or this town, shit.” Richie continues his walk up the stairs. “I’m not staying here to die.”

Stan and the others watch him leave in silence. When the door to his room slams shut, the noise startles them all. In unison, the three of them all follow, standing in a group outside Richie’s door. 

Ben knocks. “Richie, it’s us. Let us in.”

“Fuck off, Haystack.”

Bev knocks this time. “We’re serious. Let us in, and we’ll talk it out. You can’t just leave us here. We’re stronger together.”

“Great. Let’s all sing a little song and hold hands and maybe then we’ll defeat It with the power of friendship!” Richie’s tone is mocking. “We stay, we die. You said so yourself.”

“I didn’t say that!” Bev knocks again. “C’mon, open the door!”

Stan sighs. “Richie, please. Just let us in.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then the lock clicks. Richie opens the door. “If we talk for five minutes, will you all leave me the fuck alone?”

It’s the lack of jokes that bothers Stan the most, but he just holds up his hands placatingly. “Fine. Five minutes.”

“Just try to leave after five minutes,” Bev mumbles under her breath as they file in. Stan takes in the open suitcase, with most of Richie’s clothes still shoved inside. The rest of the room looks untouched, which makes sense, as none of them got much sleep the night before.

Richie settles on the edge of the bed. “Right, here’s the part where you give me a big inspiring speech about friendship and duty and then we all hug it out and cry? ‘Cause sorry, I don’t think John Hughes is writing this particular story.”

Ben settles on the bed on Richie’s right side. “Listen, I know you’re scared. We’re all scared. But we can’t just leave. It’s like Bill said, we were all together that summer when we stopped It.”

Richie scoffs. “You mean when we knocked It down a sewer pipe and ultimately did nothing to stop It? Yeah, that worked out great for us. How do we even know that we’re gonna be able to kill It for real?”

Bev crouches down in front of Richie. She gives Stan a look, and Stan moves to sit on Richie’s other side.

Richie looks at all three of them in turn. “Seriously, guys, this is feeling a little after school special right now.”

Bev smiles a little at that. “Don’t worry, we’ll still hug it out after we get you to stay.” Her face turns serious. “Richie, you can’t leave, okay? I know it’s hard, and we’re all scared too, but if you leave now you’re putting us all at risk.”

Riche presses his lips together in a thin line. “You don’t get it. This town…”

“We’re not doing it for the town, we’re doing it for the kids, the ones who died before and the ones who we are trying to save now.” Ben’s voice is firm now. “You’ve gotta think about that, and the fact we made a promise to come back. You can’t break that. Losers stick together, remember?”

Richie is staring at the old carpet on the floor of the room. “You don’t understand,” he repeats, though most of the venom is gone from his voice.

Stan gives Riche as reassuring a smile as he can. “Then help us. We’ll figure it out together.” 

For a long moment, it’s silent. Outside, someone walks past their room; the door next door opens and shuts. Richie starts at that slightly, before finally speaking again.

“How does Eddie die?”

Richie’s voice is smaller than normal. Stan has the urge to reach out and take his friend’s hand in his, but he knows that pitying Richie will only cause him to withdraw more. So he folds his hands neatly in his lap. On his other side, Ben seems to be debating the same thing; he raises a hand slightly as if to touch Richie’s shoulder, then drops it to his side.

Bev purses her lips. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Richie nods once, all traces of humor gone.

Bev exhales slowly. “I don’t know exactly how it starts, but we’re in the sewers. He’s trying to save you, and then It, It stabs him with some kind of claw. That’s all I saw.”

Richie nods again. He can’t meet anyone’s eyes. 

“I’ve seen so many horrible things, Rich,” Bev continues. “We don’t know if they’re all going to happen, so don’t just get fixated on this. We’re all looking out for Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Richie mutters. “Sure. We’ll just get lucky and no one will get hurt. It’s not like you and Stan saw the future or anything.”

“I changed mine,” Stan says gently. 

“Yeah, and don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did,” Riche says, voice a little raw now. “But Eddie…”

He stops, and then exhales shakily. 

Something floats through Stan’s memory. Richie at age fourteen, after Eddie had moved out of town. Richie had been crying, which is unusual enough that it stuck out in Stan’s mind. He had said something that night, something in confidence.

_“Please don’t hate me Stan,”_ Richie had said through his tears all those years ago. _“I can’t lose both of you at the same time.”_

Stan had said nothing, and instead hugged his friend close. Richie had sobbed “ _I miss him_ ” into Stan’s shoulder, and Stan had sworn to his friend that he would never tell his secret, that he would never tell anyone that Richie loved —

Stan blinks. He remembers now, and it suddenly makes sense that Richie wants to know what he saw in the Deadlights. He wants Stan to tell him that there’s an easy solution to save Eddie’s life, because Richie has always loved Eddie best.

He could say that now, but Richie might not remember coming out and he knows that Riche had not shared his secret with Bev or Ben.

Maybe that was what the clown had taunted Richie with, out in Derry. Stan thought back to the dinner at the Jade of the Orient, how Richie had looked nauseous when Bill spoke about the murder of Adrian Mellon. So much was making sense now about Richie’s reactions.

Stan understands now, and chooses to keep Richie’s secret again.

Instead, he reaches out and covers Richie’s hand with his. “Whoever that Voice I heard was, they made it clear I could change my future and by doing so would change everyone else’s. What Bev saw, what I saw, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re together again. All of us.”

Richie finally looks up at Stan, expression unreadable. “You really believe that?”

“I do.” Stan has never believed in anything more clearly than he does in this moment. 

Richie sighs. “Fine. I’ll stay. But I swear go God, if we all die, I’m tracking you guys down in whatever afterlife there is and —“

Someone in the next room yells for help. The voice is high and terrified, and unmistakably Eddie’s.

Richie and Stan share a look of terror as they leap to their feet; Bev and Ben do the same. The four of them sprint towards the door, and Stan sends a wish up to the Voice, the Turtle, whoever is listening that they reach Eddie in time.

* * *

When Eddie arrives at the townhouse, there is no one else around. He peers into the small bar, but none of his friends are there. The weight of his memories is heavy, so he decides to simply head to his room.

There’s a low murmur of voices from Richie’s room as he walks by; he considers stopping and knocking on the door, but the thought passes as he unlocks his own door and walks inside. The room feels safe and secure, though he’s sure he didn’t leave the window open.

Eddie steps into the bathroom and turns on the sink. Splashing some water on his face, he exhales, trying to process the past two days. The call from Bill, the sudden return of his memories, the fact they’re going up against some sort of ancient evil, the fact two of his friends had visions of his death… 

It’s a fucking lot to deal with. 

The medicine cabinet is slightly ajar, so Eddie reaches up to close it, and finally sees the man standing behind him.

_Well_ , Eddie thinks hysterically as he takes in the sight of Henry Bowers standing behind him with that fucking knife in his hands, _I didn’t think this day could get any fucking worse._

Bowers laughs, low and cruel. “Hiya, Eddie.” 

Slowly, Eddie turns to face him. Every muscle is screaming at him to run but he’s about 70% sure if he makes any sort of quick movement, Bowers will lunge and it’ll be all over. He doesn’t want to die because of Pennywise, but he also would very much like to not die now. 

He should, probably, also not say anything.

Instead, he spits out. “You should cut that fucking mullet. It’s been thirty years, dude.” His eyes flick to the door, judging if he can make a run for it, but Bowers is standing in the threshold, leaving him no place to go.

Bowers sneers. “Try and run, girly boy. You won’t get very far.” He takes a couple steps forward, close enough so that he can reach out and press the edge of the knife against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie is very aware of the blade as it rests on his face, perilously close to cutting skin. 

“It’s your time.” Bowers lets out a giggle, letting the knife trace downwards until the point is just under Eddie’s chin. “It wants you first, then the others.”

The others. There were voices in the other room, so Eddie knows at least Richie is here, and probably a couple of his other friends as well. Easy pickings for when Bowers is through with him; that is, only if Eddie doesn’t put up a fight.

“Fuck you,” Eddie says, quiet but vicious. His back is to the sink and he reaches behind him, looking for something to defend himself. If he’s going to die, he’s going to die fighting. No cowering, no hiding behind placebos or fear. He’s going to go down kicking and screaming, and maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll take Bowers with him.

There’s a razor on the sink from where Eddie had shaved yesterday before dinner. Eddie lets his fingers curl around the handle, tilting his chin slightly upwards as the knife pressed against his throat presses deeper. 

Eddie breathes for a moment. Bowers grins wickedly. “Time to float.”

That’s when Eddie throws his weight backwards as he brings the razor up to slash at Bowers’s face. Bowers snarls and jumps back, just as one of the blades manages to nick skin. It’s enough to throw him off balance and Eddie pushes forward, knocking into him as he rushes for the door. He makes it into the hotel room before Bowers regains his footing and lunges after him.

Bowers tackles him to the floor. The air rushes out of Eddie’s lungs and he gasps for breath, rolling onto his back. In that moment of distraction, Bowers stabs downward. 

Eddie just manages to throw his hand up to protect his face and the knife stabs down into his palm. He lets out a sharp, short noise of pain as Bowers leans back and laughs gleefully, letting go of the knife for a moment.

The pain is almost overwhelming, but it makes things clear. Eddie thinks he should say something angry or funny, like Richie might in this situation, but instead he channels that bright, furious pain into action.

He rips the knife out of his own hand and stabs upwards, into Bowers’ chest. 

Bowers gasps and tips backwards onto the carpet as Eddie scrambles to his feet. “GUYS!”

Stumbling towards the door, he throws it open and slides out and down onto the floor as the door creaks shut behind him. The door next to him slams open and Richie, Stan, Bev, and Ben spill out into the hallway. 

“Bowers is in my room,” Eddie says weakly.

Ben immediately goes into action, opening Eddie’s door and running into the room as Bev and Stan crouch down beside Eddie to examine his injury. Eddie’s eyes are drawn to Richie, who’s standing just behind them, looking angry.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” Bev says matter of factly. She pulls her room key out of her pocket and tosses them to Stan. “I can take care of it. Stan, there’s a sewing kit in my suitcase.”

Stan heads for her room as Ben comes back to the hallway, a towel in his hand. He wraps it around Eddie's injured palm. “He’s gone, through the window.” He pauses. “Did you stab him?”

Eddie nods. “Twice. I got him with my razor, then when he stabbed me I pulled the knife out and got him back.”

Richie finally seems to start out of his daze at that. “Eddie Kaspbrak gets off a good one,” he says weakly as Ben helps Eddie to his feet and they get him into the closest room. Stan enters a moment later, sewing kit in hand.

“Right,” Bev says sharply, looking at Eddie’s hand. “It didn’t go all the way through, that’s good. You’re gonna need to get this looked at, but I can patch you up right now. Are you gonna freak out on me?”

“Not unless you don’t wash your hands.” Eddie laughs, a little hysterically. “Any way you can sterilize that needle? Or get me a drink, ‘cause I think I’m gonna need it.”

It takes a while to sterilize the needle and sew him up, with Ben holding his good hand as Bev makes neat, careful stitches, but Eddie’s hand is eventually stitched and bandaged. Richie and Stan watch from the corner, and Eddie finds his eyes drawn to Richie’s face more than once as he avoids looking at Bev’s handiwork. 

When all is said and done, Eddie feels resolve in his veins.

“Mike’s phone is dead,” Stan says, “and Bill isn’t picking up. They need to know Bowers is out there.”

“It’s Pennywise’s fault,” Bev says. “Somehow, It got Bowers free and now he’s trying to take us out. Guess he really thinks we’re a threat.”

“Yeah, if that’s supposed to make any of us feel better, it’s not working,” Richie says angrily. “Henry Bowers is a fucking psycho who made all of our lives hell for years. Now, he’s older and more crazy and he’s got a fucking knife. So we’ve got to deal with him as well as the crazy clown monster.”

Ben shakes his head. “Look, let’s just go find Mike and Bill. Splitting up earlier was a bad idea; we need to stick together going forward. Less chance of anyone else getting hurt.”

Richie doesn’t look convinced, but Stan puts a hand on his shoulder and he deflates a little. 

His palm still hurts, a dull throb, but Eddie uses it to steady him. He’s surprised that he isn’t passed out or in a panic. The idea of being sewn up by a friend with a travel sewing kit after being stabbed by his childhood bully is enough to cause his mother’s voice to ring in his ears — _“Eddie bear, it’s so unclean! You could get so many diseases, you should go to a hospital, I knew those friends of yours were trouble!”_ — but rather than being worried he feels like he’s seeing things more clearly than ever.

As they head down the stairs, Eddie falls in step with Richie. 

“You okay?” Richie’s voice is pitched low, as if he doesn’t want the others to hear.

“I’m fine,” Eddie says. He glances at Richie. “You, on the other hand, look like shit.”

Richie chuckles. “Wow, thanks Eds.” He pauses, then adds, “you know, it was pretty cool. How you fucking just… stabbed Bowers with a knife you pulled out of your own fucking hand. Super badass.”

Eddie feels something warm in his chest at Richie’s words. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Richie says teasingly. “Though I do remember you kicking Pennywise in the face and screaming ‘I’m gonna kill you’ after It puked all over you. That was also pretty badass.”

“Don’t remind me.” Eddie shudders. “God, that really was a nightmare.”

Richie sobers at that. “I can’t believe we did all that shit as kids. Christ, it’s a miracle that we all made it out alive.” 

Eddie nods. “Do you think we’ll all make it out this time? With what Bev said, what she and Stan saw?”

He watches Richie out of the corner of his eyes, notices how his shoulders stiffen. Richie is quiet for a moment before saying “yeah, I think we will. You’re not gonna die.” He pauses, then turns to look at Eddie with a grin. “Besides, if you die, then your mom will start crying during sex and that’s no fun.”

“Beep beep,” Eddie says, elbowing Richie. Riche laughs, and for a moment, things feel almost normal.

This normalcy feels nice. Eddie hopes that, if they all make it through this night, that things can be normal like this going forward. That there can be dinners that don’t end with monsters crawling out of the food, jokes that don’t take a morbid turn. He wants to spend more time with Richie and get to know him as an adult, the way they were best friends as kids.

Eddie realizes he wants a future. His hand throbs again and he lets the pain ground him again. He’ll have one. Just wait and see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Googled it, and you can give stitches with regular thread so Bev isn't messing up Eddie's hand. Also yes, I changed it from him getting stabbed in the face because the idea of Bev having to sew up a hole in Eddie's cheek was highly stressful. 
> 
> Once again, you can find me on tumblr at nedstax.tumblr.com!


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